


Language Barrier

by BabbleBadgered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is bad at wooing, Destiel - Freeform, Enochian, M/M, Supernatural AU: Gabriel Lives, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabbleBadgered/pseuds/BabbleBadgered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has the bright idea to try and woo Castiel in his own language.<br/>Too bad Enochian is harder than he initially thought, and Gabriel is a horrible teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language Barrier

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a response to a prompt floating around on tumblr, regarding Dean trying to learn Enochian and screwing up horribly.
> 
> Oh, and the link to the "all voice choir that's all over YouTube"  
> that's here  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=6WhWDCw3Mng

Enochian is some weird shit.

Not only do the words not even sound like words, they aren't even remotely similar to any sound a human voice is capable of producing. The closest thing Dean can come to describing it is like one of those ambient sound-makers at the zoo, if it was set to the bird setting, inverted, smoothed out, slowed down, inverted again, and blended together with a loop track of that weird all voice symphony that's all over YouTube (one night Sam had kept it on repeat the whole time he was doing research, and although Dean will adamantly deny his eventual enjoyment of it, he will admit that the song stuck with him)  
Though despite being nothing close to any of those things, he thinks he may have gotten the hang of this fucked up excuse for a language. Maybe, if “gotten the hang of it” can be classified by knowing about six _possible_ words and a garble of repeated sounds that might potentially be important. Though Dean thinks he's made progress, seeing as how he's only been working on it for a few weeks, whereas everyone else speaking it probably got to go through a millennia long toddler stage of babbling and shrieking single random words. If angels ever were toddlers, and if they ever babbled...  
So, yeah, six _kinda-sorta_ -words and a few sounds is pretty good in Dean's book.  
Though none of this would be so goddamn _difficult_ if he didn't have to sift through old sound recordings, summoning tapes, and dusty tomes to learn what little he'd gathered. If he could just maybe _talk_ to an _angel_ -

Oh wait. 

That's the whole reason he's trying so hard with this pointless language lesson, isn't it? To spout out his feelings to Cas in his “native tongue”, as corny and gushy as that sounds. It had sounded like a good idea at the time.  
Dean's never really been one with words -sure he's got a quicksilver tongue with the ladies (in more than just the metaphorical sense), and enough sarcasm dripping from his words to mop the floor of all the idiots he pleases- but when it really comes down to the stuff that matters, actually talking about _his feelings_ and all that other bullshit, yeah, he's a bit rusty.

Thus, this bright idea came to fruition.

“This is a stupid idea.”, Dean mutters to himself for the third time that night. He's been folded up on the bed covered in dusty parchment and borrowed books for the past two hours, seeing as how Sam called dibs on the desk, where he was doing something similar, though in a slightly more comfortable position.  
“Stop your pissing and moaning would 'ya? I'm actually doing research for important things.” Sam scolded from behind his laptop.  
“This is for important things!”  
“Trying to find an unnecessarily difficult way to woo your angelic boy-toy isn't “important things”, Dean,” Sam peered over the top of his laptop screen, “any stupid plan you come up with will, most likely, lead you to the inside of his pants all the same.”  
After catching a glimpse at his brother's _totally manly_ pout, Sam returned to puttering away on his keyboard, seemingly focused on whatever the topic of the night was.  
For a moment, Dean could have sworn Sam hadn't gotten his soul back.  
Though after that fleeting worry was shrugged off, and a few seconds of staring at the crumbling literature in front of him passed, Dean realized he'd had enough dust for one night.  
After piling all of his research material haphazardly on the bedside table he leaned against the bed, lazily scratching the stubble along his jawline as he let his eyes drift to the floor.  
“Why don't we call _your_ angel boy-toy?”  
Sam's bitchface practically took on a life of it's own at that remark, and if Dean didn't know any better he would have thought the kid had gone off and gotten surgery while he wasn't looking because eyebrows were _not_ designed to go up that high.  
“Gabriel looks, like, ten years older than us, and probably is ten billion millennia older than us Dean, he can hardly be called a _boy ___-toy.” Sam drawled sarcastically, as if that tid-bit of information mattered.  
“Also, we haven't even seen him in months, what makes you think his candy-coated ass would come prancing over here if either of us called him?”  
Dean pondered on that for a moment, “Sentimental reasons?”  
Again with the eyebrow.  
“ _Or_ because heaven's littlest archangel just loves to play matchmaker, and will probably leap at the opportunity to get anyone to stick their lollipop where the sun don't shine.”  
“Go the fuck to bed, Dean.”  
“This conversation will resume at first light.”  
“Sure.”

***

 

The next few days found the two Winchesters hiking through the trees outside of some backwoods town in Washington, and though Dean just _loved_ getting nature in his eyes and his mouth and up his ass he would love even more for them to be able to finally find the thing and get it over with. The case was nothing too serious. Well, not to them, but Dean supposes a rogue werewolf would be a big deal to some people, namely those getting eaten, but that's beside the point.  
When the shaggy bastard eventually shows, it's mostly routine. Save for the part where all five and a half feet of archangel decides to crash the party and smite the living hell out of the damn thing. Dean would probably find the irony of that statement funny had he not just trekked out in the boonies for two days, only to have his recompense stolen by the feathery bastard in front of him.

“God _damnit Gabriel!_ ”

“Tisk tisk my dearest Kermit-eyed Winchester, thou shalt not speak thy lords name in vain.” Gabriel smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling with glee at the sight of the two agitated men before him.

“What the hell do you want Gabriel?” Sam huffed, sagging his shoulders in defeat at the archangel. Any other day and they would be having a pissing contest, and the smarm-alarms would be blaring. But at the present, Dean could attest to the fact that neither of them were up to it. It's hard to keep up with sharp and witty banter when you're sticky and sore and have half the bugs in Washington crawling around under your clothes.

“A little birdy told me Dean-o here needed some tutoring! What was it?-” Gabriel scratches his head,  
“Oh yes! To woo a certain dreamy blue-eyed angel lad in a trench coat.” 

The boys give each other sidelong glances, and then turn their attention back to Gabriel. 

“You been spyin' on us?”

Gabriel snorted and shook his head, “Dean please, I'm an archangel for fuck's sake. Tricker, Loki, celestial supernatural being, _hello_.” He gestures wildly in the air for dramatic effect.  
“Over the millennium I've gained what is known as the power of observation.”  
Before Dean can respond with what is probably an insult, Gabriel adds, “Though, another skill I also possess is that of speaking Enochian. Which is clearly what you are trying to achieve, no?” He cocks his head, almost in a Cas-like way, only completely different because this is Gabriel, and instead of being endearing it makes Dean want to punch him in the face.

“What's the catch?”

“No catch, I'm just bored, and after the whole apocalypse incident I found that helping out the Winchesters is just _swell_.”

Sam, who up until now had been observing idly, pipped up, “Yeah, if I remember that incident correctly that didn't go too well for you. Didn't you, uh, I don't know, _die horribly_?”

“Yeah, well, we'll just have to keep the killing me to a minimum. But I think Dean-a-rino here is too preoccupied with deflowering my baby bro to try any of that, so we're good in that department.”

Dean scowled, and tried to look anywhere but Gabriel while he thought about the pros and cons of the situation. On one hand he could accept Gabriel's help, actually learn some Enochian, woo Cas, sweep him off his feet and howdy hey they'd be in business.  
But on the other hand, this was Gabriel, and Chuck knows what that guy's motives are. His brain is like a sack of cats and Dean doesn't want to be on the receiving end of a classic Trickster prank, because everyone knows how fun _that_ is.

“So what's it gonna be Winchester numero uno?” 

Dean looks up, brows furrowed, and comes to a decision. 

“Alright Goldilocks. We're gonna do this, but if I smell even a hint of insincerity on you I will kick your ass into the next apocalypse.”

Gabriel bit his lip, “Fair enough.”

***

 

The next few weeks are peppered with sporadic visits from Gabriel, which he uses to slowly teach Dean a decent amount of Enochian. The only problem was, Gabriel didn't care what was happening when he randomly appeared, be it the boys eating take-out in their motel room, or taking out a nest of particularly bitchy harpies, he always took the time to initiate a lesson. Even if that meant he was explaining to Dean the basic Enochian grammatical structure while smiting the wrinkly face off of a witch. 

And to be honest, Dean wasn't making much progress. 

But to be completely fair, Gabriel's lesson plans weren't really conducive to any real learning. It was hard enough during the times when he caught them during their downtime, but when they were out hunting Dean had his mind on other things. Mostly on not getting mauled or torn limb from limb.  
Although, Dean had to give the guy credit, it's not like he wasn't a good teacher, he really was trying.  
Gabriel would show up and stay as long as it took for Dean to get a decent grasp on what he was teaching, often making various sweets and goodies appear out of thin air at some point during the lesson. He'd even poofed-up a slice of pie for Dean at one point, so he had to cut the guy some slack.

Speaking of poofing up, Dean hadn't seen hide nor hair of Cas in weeks. Normally he'd just pop in every few days, stay for a little while if they were lucky, and funnel a little bit of angel mojo to assist them with their latest hunt. He'd sometimes offer useful advice too, between his attempts at using chopsticks and working desk lamps. But their angel had been strangely absent.

“Yo Sammy, you got any clue about the deal with Cas?” Dean mumbled around his egg roll. 

“Aside from the fact that he makes you sexually frustrated, no, unfortunately not.”

Dean nodded, brushing that particular comment aside. “Kinda worries me we haven't seen him lately though.”

At that moment, Gabriel decided to poof into the adjacent chair wearing a coat so thick and furry Dean could barely make out the angel's face inside the hood.

“Bit chilly there Gabe? Want me to get you a blanket or something?” Sam chuckled, having stopped mid-bite to inspect the scene before them.  
Gabriel threw back his hood, hair moderately disheveled from it's ordeal. 

“An old lady offered it to me, I didn't want to be rude.” He snapped his fingers, and in a small flurry of fur the coat was gone.

“Nice lady too, think her name was Linda.” He added, as he straightened his hair and brushed a few loose strands of fur from the table.

Once his hair was pristine once again, Gabriel took the liberty of helping himself to all of the fortune cookies and a slurp of Dean's beer. 

“Oh yeah, and about Cas, he's fine. Just a bit preoccupied with something at the moment.” 

Dean looked up, and gave Gabriel a questioning glance as the angel took another lengthy swig of his Corona. When he didn't elaborate, Dean huffed and shuffled over to grab another beer from the fun-sized motel refrigerator. No way he was risking getting a mouthful of archangel backwash.  
When he plopped back down in his chair, Dean snapped the cap of his bottle off on the side of the table and pointed to Gabriel. 

“You wanna elaborate on your previous statement there Gabe?”

“Not really, but I will for the sake of conventionalism.”

Both Winchesters rolled their eyes in unison, and Sam shoved a forkful of steamed broccoli in his mouth as Gabriel went on.

“I gave our little Cassie a job across the pond! Made up a list of stuff for him to gather up in Europe and sent him on his merry way to buy lover-boy here a little time for his learning curve.”

Dean cocked his eyebrow in disbelief, and leaned forward on the table, “Are you saying you sent Cas on a _scavenger hunt?”_  
Gabriel flashed a wicked grin, “Right on bucko.”  
He took another bite of fortune cookie with a crunch, and through crumbs added,  
“Oh yeah, and you're pretty much done with all the stuff I can teach 'ya so just work on it yourself for a bit and see how it goes.”  
Dean's eyes widened and he fumbled for words, nearly knocking his chair over when he leaned over the table towards the smug looking angel.

“You can't be serious! I still know jack-squat!” 

Gabriel smirked, “Search your feelings young Winchester! Anything 'ya find is better than nothing.”  
And with that, Gabriel was gone.  
Dean should be used to the angels popping in and out of everywhere, but he still hated it when they disappeared in the middle of a conversation. Though they can hardly be referred to as conversations with the amount of times Gabriel disappears while Dean is mid sentence, or how he'll poof out to avoid answering a question.  
Yeah, Gabriel is a frustrating son of a bitch.  
But at this point Dean supposes he's going to have to put what Gabriel taught him to use. So after helping Sam heave all their crap off of the table, he sets to work on reviewing what he's learned about the brain curdling angel language. He piles all of the old books around him, along with his notebooks and various loose notes.  
Dean has lots of things written down, yet they do little but give him hints about how to arrange what he's saying. The real helpful stuff in on his tape-recorder. Occasionally Dean would be in a position where he could record Gabriel's lessons, and it helped a ton with learning the words, because reading Enochian is a little like reading Chinese; you can read and understand what's written down, but it takes a separate set of knowledge to actually relay them into spoken words. 

Dean listens to the tape recordings and flips through notebooks for hours, until Sam throws a pillow at him and groans for him to turn the damn light off and go to sleep.

***

 

It't two days after a parka-clad Gabriel poofs out on him, that Castiel finally poofs in.  
Sam was in the middle of packing up the Impala's trunk with extra supplies, while Dean was combing through a magazine on the couch of one of their more decent motel rooms when the dark haired angel appeared in the doorway. He looked significantly more disheveled than usual, his shirt was partially untucked, his shoes were a bit scuffed, and- was his tie _paisley?_  
“Woah Cas, dude you're lookin' rough.” Dean chuckled.  
“And what's the deal with the tie?”

Cas looked down, and took the tie in his hands, staring at it as if he was marveling something particularly intriguing.

“I am unsure. I do not recall making any agreements regarding my neckwear.”  
He looks back up at Dean, who rolls his eyes and hefts himself off the couch.  
There was still something somewhat endearing about Cas' blunt remarks, even after all the time Dean and Sam had been around him. Though at times it made Dean want to smack himself in the face. 

“Yep, good to have 'ya back Cas.” he says, patting Cas on the shoulder.

“Thank you Dean, the same in regards to you.”

They both awkwardly stare at one another for a few moments after that. Well, awkward for Dean, though he's unsure if Cas is even familiar with the feeling.  
Then Sam goes and swings the door open and makes the situation even more uncomfortable.  
He turns to Cas with lopsided grin, “Heya' Cas, how was Europe?” 

“Well, I would say that it was a bit exasperating. Gabriel's errands were... odd.”

Dean shifts on his feet and crosses his arms, “How so Cas?”

“Gabriel requested that I gather many questionable items, and that I took photos of myself doing strange things with them. I am almost certain that it was not the intended purpose of those items.” Cas responded, gaze shifting between the brothers.  
Sam nods slowly, then turns towards Dean, “Um, okay. Well anyway, the car needs gas, and we're almost out of ammo.”  
“So, I'm going to leave you two here while I go get those things.” he says, and shuffles back out the door after giving Dean a pointed look and a smirk. 

Dean coughs awkwardly and fidgets with his pant pockets. Castiel stands and squints, observing with mild curiosity. 

“Dean.”

“Yeah Cas?” Dean looks up, and stills his fingers mid-fiddle on the rim of his front pocket.

“I do not believe it's customary to extend a greeting in the doorway this long.” 

“Uh, yeah, right sorry.” 

Dean retreats back inside the motel room, and perches on the side of the bed. When he glances back up Cas has already reappeared beside the other bed, and is eyeing the stack of books scattered on the side table.

Oh shit.

Dean hadn't gotten around to packing up his research books and tapes yet, so they were still laying out it the open, free for all eyes to see. Especially Cas's freaky super angel eyes.

“Dean, why is it that you have so much research material regarding the celestial language?” he asks, picking up one of the heavier books with ease. 

“Oh you know, just general research and everything.” Dean blurts out, grabbing the book from Cas and _woah_ he'd forgotten how heavy that one was.  
He obviously looks flustered, because Cas is giving him that _look_ and he knows that look. It's the look he gets when he understands one of Dean's movie references or when he helps Sam piece together something in a case. It's _that_ look.

“Dean, you're learning Enochian.”

It's not a question and Dean knows he's been found out. Too bad he doesn't really have much to show for it, because he still can't speak it worth a damn.  
He tangles his fingers in his air as he struggles for what to say, wracking his brain for the proper words and sounds and oh fuck it here it goes-

The sounds feel strange in Dean's mouth, but he's gotten used to that. He stumbles over a few pronunciations and he has to start over on a few clusters of words but otherwise he thinks it's okay, and he continues on for a few more minutes trying his best to piece together the words until he thinks he's got it. When he stops, he looks up at Castiel expectantly, waiting for his response. 

Cas looks a bit confused for a moment, and then glances down thoughfully.

“Yes Dean, I suppose they are. Though I hadn't really thought of them as above average garments.”

That was not a response that he was expecting.

“Wait, what?” Dean fumbles, and is painfully baffled as to where that response came from. He's just tried to express his inner most feelings in a _celestial angelic language_ , and the object of his affections responds with something about his above average garments. That sort of throws Dean for a loop.

“I am unsure as to why you think my pants are so exceptional is what I was implying.” Cas replies, furrowing his brow.

“Wait, Cas, what _exactly_ did I just say to you?” Dean demands, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Well you were a bit rough in a few areas, but essentially you explained to me that you thought my pants were majestic, and that you have thought so for quite some time now.”

Dean audibly groans as the realization dawns on him. He knew his vocabulary was horrible.  
“Majestic pants, Jesus Christ.” he croaks, dragging a hand down his face as hot embarrassment creeps up to his ears.  
He leans over his knees on the bed, desperately wishing he was anywhere but here.

It isn't until two nimble hands take the sides of his face that he dares to glance back up.  
Castiel's gaze is affectionate, and when he starts to talk his voice is gentle.  
It takes Dean a moment to realize that Cas is speaking to him in Enochian, though it doesn't sound like any examples of it that he'd ever heard before. It's soft and slow, unlike the usual piercing urgency that generally accompanies the words.  
Castiel touches his fingers to Dean's temple as he speaks, and then Dean begins to understand. It's an odd sensation, Dean still can't really distinguish the words, yet he knows exactly what it is Castiel is saying.

_“You needn't try and speak as anyone but yourself for me to be able to understand you. I will know what you mean, and I will understand what you're trying to express in any language or gesture.”_

Castiel's speech patterns are smoother and more vibrant in this language, Dean thinks. It's what he knows, this is his element, and the words he says have never seemed more endearing as they are now when spoken in his original tongue. He's not trying to understand sarcasm, not being forced to incorporate any euphemisms, it's simply how _Castiel_ would speak, and Dean could listen to it all day.

 _“You don't need to attempt to persuade me with anything other than what you know already, it's not worth it to see you struggle.”_  
Cas smiles at Dean's grimace.

 _“If you will remain content with knowing media references, I will remain content knowing Enochian. Alright?”_

Dean nods, still staring at Castiel, at his eyes. Man are they blue. Dean wonders how irises can breech the color barrier to become so vibrant. He just decides to chock it up to angel mojo and the fact that Cas is just amazing. 

_“I appreciate your embellishing cometary regarding my eyes, Dean. But I'm almost certain you would be more impressed with my actual eyes.”_ Cas says, before removing his touch from Dean's temples.  
Dean smiles wide, and before he realizes what he's doing he's off the bed and his lips are on Castiel's.  
He runs a hand through the angel's unruly ebony hair, and rests the other on his neck while Cas reaches around his waist to pull him in closer and deepen the kiss.  
Dean is surprised at how good Cas is at this, the seemingly naïve angel is putting some of his former flings to shame. The way he melds the movement of his lips with Dean's is almost profound, and when Cas begins to gently explore his mouth with his tongue Dean's knees buckle ever so slightly and he sags in the angel's arms.

When they part lips, each of them is a tad flustered. Cas's hair is sticking up in all directions, and Dean's face is flushed up to his ears.

“Damn Cas how'd you get so good at that?” Dean inquires between gasps of breath.

“Gabriel had me practice as part of my list of errands.”

“Uh, practice?”

 

Later that day, Dean finds an envelope of polaroid photographs that had fallen out of Cas's trench coat pocket, most likely in a bout of _hurried undress._

“Hey Cas, what're these old polaroids about?” he asks, as he settles himself back into the mattress.  
Cas doesn't get a chance to answer, and when Dean pulls them out his jaw drops.  
He holds in his hand, photo documentation of Castiel, sucking face-with what Dean thinks-has to be every bikini clad girl in Europe.  
He also finds a small post-it-note stuck inside the envelope.

_Dearest Dean,_  
 _You're welcome._  
 _Love,_  
 _Gabriel_

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was not beta'd, if you catch any mistakes feel free to message me about them and I will gladly correct them.  
> Otherwise, thanks for reading!


End file.
